


Of Other Comforts

by Relagorikt



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Anger, Avoidant Crowley, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Crowley's pov, Developing Relationship, Fever, Fluff and Angst, Freeform, Hand Feeding, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Internal Conflict, Kissing, Limited Perception, Loss of Control, Love, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pain, Pride, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Questionable use of miracles, Switch Aziraphale (Good Omens), Switch Crowley (Good Omens), Temporary loss of sight, Tenderness, Trust, implied minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-09-07 05:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20304163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Relagorikt/pseuds/Relagorikt
Summary: In which Hastur tries to deliver what he thinks Crowley has coming to him, and things don't go to plan. A tender recovery fic done in snapshots.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started leaking out of my brain the other day so I thought I might as well try to get it on paper. It has been a while since I tried to write anything of length and this is my first real Good Omens fic so please be gentle with me. So, this is really my attempt to try to get into character for writing these two. It's more of a character exploration piece rather than a plot piece but I hope you enjoy. No beta, but I did try to edit it as best as I could manage. Also, I'm sorry Hastur. I promise to try to make it up to you at some point.

It was a nice day if a bit cloudy. St. James park nestled in the midst of it, winding pathways, benches, ducks, and all. It was not overly busy but it was early yet, the day still getting in full swing. It was almost seven weeks out since the apocalypse, or at least what _would have been_ the apocalypse if it hadn’t all been tactfully avoided. Crowley lounged on the bench he and Aziraphale had come to think of as their own if such a thing could, in fact, belong to them, and took it all in. 

The peace of it all. The way the breeze in the air touched his skin. The sounds of everyday life going about itself none the wiser for what had almost happened. It was both equal parts inspirational and disappointing that there wasn’t anything, in particular, to have marked it by. In the past several weeks they had been left to their own devices, no contact with either above or below and while that suited him just fine, it left him grasping for something indefinable internally. Some things didn’t change, coming here like this for instance, it was downright a habit at this point.

The Angel quietly sat beside him, taking his place. “Nothing out of the ordinary to report. You?” he asked, sounding curious. 

“Ngn.-” he intoned in response, and tipped his head against the top edge of the bench, attempting to sun himself. “No, nothing. Quiet as anything.” 

“I suppose it’s the best we could have hoped for.”

“I don’t trust it.”

“No, I wouldn’t either. Your lot isn’t really prone to accepting when things don’t go their way.” Aziraphale murmured. There was no bite to his words of course. As if heaven was any better about it; as if they were filled with unwavering forgiveness or mercy. Thinking about it was enough to sour the mood almost. 

“Not my lot anymore, Angel, are they?” Crowley said.

“No, I suppose not.”

Crowley tilted his face in Aziraphale’s direction, just enough to see him out of the corner of his eye. They had been seeing quite a lot of one another these days. It wasn’t like they had anything better to do in particular and without all of the restrictions and danger of being seen with one another now, well... He wavered over that thought for a moment and then in as offhand of a tone as he could muster said. “So, breakfast then?”

The angel was looking at him in return, as pleased as anything at the prospects and almost glowing with pleasure. He loved that look on him, it made his insides do funny pleasurable things. “Yes, quite. There is a new little cafe not too far away that just opened up I've been dying to try.” 

They stood and slowly began to amble their way back towards his car along the waterside path, softly talking to one another and not in any hurry to get anywhere. It was almost idyllic if not quite as warm as he would have preferred. He wasn’t even paying attention to what was in front of him almost until he sensed him, the other demon. It wasn’t anything definitive that tipped him off, just an intent stillness like when you know someone is staring at you from across a room but it had him drawing up short. 

He stopped so abruptly that the angel bumped into him before taking a step off to the side. Hadn’t Hell agreed to leave him alone? The demon, Hastur, Duke of Hell, stood before them on the pathway looking a little worse for wear, a frown etched onto his mouth that was half sneer. 

“It was some kind of trick. I know it was, it had to be. I don’t know how you did it, I don’t _care_ how you did it, but I’m not about to let you get away with it after what you did. Bad enough what you’re doing here with him, without all the rest. I meant what I said about the punishment fitting the crime.’ Hastur said. His arm came up from where it rested by his side, a blue-colored plastic spray bottle glistening in his thickly gloved hand.

Crowley’s hands came up, forestalling, defensive but it all happened so quickly that he didn’t have much chance to do anything about it. Hastur pulled the trigger right about the time he tried to scramble back away from him, almost tripping over himself to get away in his bid to not be utterly and completely melted from existence. Sharp fear knifed through his body, he had seen what that stuff could do, had first-hand knowledge of exactly the sort of reaction it would have on him, only… the idiot had the bottle set to mist rather than stream so it didn’t have the range needed.

They stared at one another wide-eyed and stupid for a good few seconds, his heart pounding so loudly and queerly in his chest that it was disorientating before thought caught up to them. The wind picked up sharply, riffling through the leaves of the trees and his short red hair. He huffed, not quite in humor but… he wasn’t sure what. Surprise? Shock? He missed, he thought, but then his lips began to go numb and he was suddenly alight with pain.

The world tipped and became indistinct and it was sort of like falling all over again, like his whole body was being shredded, only it was somehow worse because this time he was sure he was going to be charred clean through to the bone. This feeling was unlike anything he had ever experienced. 

He was burning! 

There was an abrupt hard impact that pushed the breath right out of him and then he even had the sudden sensation of falling, the twist in his balance and uncontrollable fear somewhere in the back of his chest cavity that one gets when they take an unexpected dive and then just as suddenly he was swallowed up by dark frigid water. 

He struggled against it and came up, sputtering and grasping with his hands but unable to tell what was around him. It was all just various levels of light and blurriness. There was a terrible high pitched shrieking, sounding equal parts enraged and vicious, and the clatter of other loud sounds he couldn't name. Someone was gasping for breath and making a small keening sound, but most of his attention was taken up by the feeling of being flayed alive. The feeling grew worse by the moment, his ears ringing, and darkness rose up to consume him.

* * *

When Crowley woke once more it was to feel himself be physically turned onto one side. He gasped and cried out, writhing and trying to fight, but blessed coolness was pressed against him, over his arms, chest, and face. “I’m burning!” he croaked 

“Shhh. You’re safe.” Aziraphale’s soft voice.

“I’m burning.” he tried again and this time he sounded weak and bereft. He tried to reach up to touch his face, only to encounter wet terrycloth fabric draped partially over it. A hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled it away. 

“You’re not. I promise you’re not.” Aziraphale murmured gently. “Don’t, my dear, you’ll hurt yourself.”

He laughed at that, a little bitter bark of it that bubbled up seemingly from nowhere. He wasn’t sure he could hurt himself worse than this. Nothing had hurt quite like this. The delirium sobered him just as quickly leaving him stunned, his mind trying to grasp at what had happened. “Where-” he finally managed.

“Bookstore.” Aziraphale said.”I thought you’d be safest here.” with me, he didn’t say but it was obvious enough from his tone.

“It doesn’t smell like it.” it didn’t smell like too much of anything aside from dust, the air stale and maybe just a little musty.

There was a bit of a pause and then the angel went on as if he wasn’t sure what to make of that. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t. We’re upstairs. I don’t spend a lot of time up here. No reason to generally speaking.”

“Hastur?” he asked next, still reeling.

“Don’t worry about that right now.”

“He’ll come back when he realizes he didn’t finish things. He hates my guts.” 

“No, there isn’t any chance of that.” It wasn’t so much what was said as the way that it was said that gave him pause. Indignation and steel coming into Aziraphale’s calm voice and for just a moment; filling it with forthright fury. There isn’t any chance of that, not a promise to protect him from it, but rather a plain unadorned fact. His lips parted in appreciation at the possible implications, but he didn’t ask. 

Aziraphale’s fingers laced with his own slowly and it was only a little bit uncomfortable, not enough for him to want to let go. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay now. Oh, my dear, you’re trembling like a leaf.”

Was he? His heart was certainly doing a number on him for all of the fact that he technically did not need it to beat to survive, most of his body’s functions were just automatic. “I’m not burnt?” he asked, and he hated the way his voice sounded in that moment, so tremulous; so in need of reassurance. He inwardly recoiled from the sound, disgusted with himself.

“No, well… you’re very red right now, there was some bleeding through but I think I've got it stopped. I am sorry about throwing you into the water, it was all I could think to do given the circumstances.”

Leave it to Aziraphale to apologize for the manner in which he saved his life. It almost made him laugh. It was ridiculous, and maddening, and charming in turn. He slipped in and out of consciousness, unable to help it. Each time he was aware of the angel next to him. 

“ ‘s fine.” he managed at some point.

* * *

When Crowley woke up again it was to the feeling of having freshly moistened cloth pressed to his skin. He had realized he was pretty well naked the first time around, but couldn’t find the will to care about it with how he felt. His whole body felt singed to within an inch of discorporation but he tried to focus on other things. He blinked his eyes but his vision remained indistinct. It wasn’t that he couldn’t see precisely, but that he might as well have been looking through a sheet of opaque plastic. He could tell there was a little bit of light coming in through the window around the mostly closed curtains. Occasionally he could see the suggestion of movement but he couldn’t tell what was what for the most part. 

Aziraphale’s fingers were carefully and slowly moving through his hair, tactfully staying at the nape of his neck where it didn’t hurt. After a moment he said. “You’re awake.” and he stopped.

“Don’t have to stop on my account.” He said because really, it wasn’t like he had a whole lot of options for ways to spend his day at the moment. “How did you know?”

“Your breathing changed. You tensed up.” Aziraphale’s fingers began moving against him once more, and he sighed despite himself. They didn’t do a lot of touching on a general basis but he supposed the angel’s compassion must be in overdrive after what happened. “Your hair is so short now.” the angel mused.

“Didn’t realize it bothered you…” Crowley said. 

“Oh, it doesn’t. I just can’t help remembering how it looked before. Such a pretty color, I always thought so…” 

“You did?” he asked incredulously, almost accusatory. “You’ve never said anything about it before.” It was absurd and baffling and he wasn’t sure why it even mattered but apparently, it did on some level. His damned _hair_ of all things... 

The silence that followed was strangely loaded, and he couldn’t discern why. He took it for as long as he could stand it (which admittedly wasn’t long) before he added. “Maybe I’ll grow it out then.” After all, what could it hurt? It felt better to think about such trivial matters and so that’s what he focused on for as long as he could manage to stay awake.

* * *

He slept and then slept some more, never awake for long. This was what, the eighth time he woke up? The ninth? He was losing track. Occasionally Aziraphale had come in to move him onto his other side or to reapply wet towels. He wasn’t sure why it helped but it did. 

When he woke up this time he ran his hand against his face and found it reassuringly solid, if not also a bit strangely textured. He had been half afraid to find his skin had been eaten away. If he got discorporated now chances were slim he’d ever get another body, he’d be stuck in hell unless he wanted to possess some poor schmuck and that would make things both disgusting and messy. It wasn’t his scene, things like that. He’d always figured it was the actions of the uncreative and besides that it left a bad taste in his mouth. No, this body was his only body, and that was the only way it could be. He ran his fingers through his hair and found that the ends of it were so brittle that they flaked apart at his touch like they were made of sand. _ Oh_, well… That explained that then, he supposed. 

He was facing towards the edge of the bed and as such he tried to carefully turn over onto his other side. It wasn’t easy, it made him hiss through gritted teeth. He gave up halfway, settling onto his back and just laying there trying to catch his breath and then when he could think straight once more he reached a wavering hand out to touch the left side of the bed. It was cold and empty. He tried not to feel disappointment in that and let his fingers curl into the thin cotton blanket, feeling the threads that quilted it. He was going to go mad, he just knew it. There was only so much of this a man could stand before he started to go stir crazy. Never mind the fact that he wasn’t actually a man. 

Something very close to fear trilled through him and turned into something almost tangible within. What if he was stuck like this? He could miracle healing for most wounds but this was different than slicing your finger open on a knife, one of the few things that could hurt a demon truly. He was just lucky to be alive after that if that is what you’d call this. Luck… It needled at him until it grew into something he could deal with more readily.

“F-uuck!” he growled in the general direction of the ceiling, baring his teeth ineffectually. It was easy to drown out the fear with anger, he was good at anger. The need to break something, to throw something was immense but he couldn’t even manage that much, not when the whole front half of him burned like he was having his skin ripped off of him every time he moved. Parts of his back had been thankfully spared and if he lay really still it was manageable

There was squeaking on the steps as they quickly were traversed. “You just startled an elderly woman.” Aziraphale said somewhere in the direction from where he assumed the doorway was. His light timbre was clipped and just a bit chastising. 

Crowley smiled thinly at that and huffed, unrepentant, but his tone came out choked. ”Good.” 

Aziraphale hummed a thoughtful sound in reply and moved closer. The left side of the bed dipped as the angel settled onto it and if the fact his outburst had brought it about, well, something in him found that a little bit gratifying all on its own. Aziraphale took up his hand, clutching at it lightly and something in him eased a bit as if just by proximity.

Aziraphale’s thumb smoothed soothing little circles into his palm carefully. “You seem crumpsy.” he said. That was an understatement but surely not the biggest he’d made this year.

“Nah. I’m just peachy. Whatever gave you that idea?” He said somewhat caustically.

The thumb stopped moving and he immediately wished he could take it back. He squeezed his hand a little trying to will it so, somehow unable to choke out an apology despite the fact that he knew he should. He struggled with it, swallowing audibly, and tilted his face towards Aziraphale and after a moment the angel started to respond once more.

“I know, dear.” Aziraphale said softly as if he had spoken aloud. 

“Plants.” He said, latching onto something neutral to say because he couldn’t very well fucking talk about it. He didn’t like feelings, didn’t want to think about them, let alone talk about them.

“Oh, yes! I erm… I hope you don’t mind, but I moved them. They’re down the hall. I thought you might like some of your belongings but there wasn’t a whole lot else that seemed… well, your flat is very…”

“Minimalist.” He prompted.

“Right.” Aziraphale said and while it was agreement, it was obvious that he had a whole lot of other opinions on the subject he was trying to hold back. He could almost imagine the doubtful sort of expression he was wearing. Did he think it was too empty? Too monochromatic?

“It’s a style, Aziraphale.”

“Right,” Aziraphale said, begrudgingly. “All I’m saying is that it could do with a bit of dressing up. Maybe some throw pillows or books, other comforts.”

“Bleeding _throw pillows_, what’s the point of that? They just get in the way and take up space. Next, you’ll be telling me to get little scented wash soaps.” 

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“Listen, Angel, I’ll get right on that when the right moment presents itself.” Like a cold day in Hell for instance. He smiled despite himself but was quickly brought back to reality as the side of his bottom lip protested the movement with a twinge. He touched his tongue to it and found it vaguely coppery.

Aziraphale’s hand came to his face, his thumb applying pressure over the spot firmly without so much as a word about it. “I know some good places. I’ll take you there sometime.” he promised. His hands were so very warm. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also Nocturne no.19 in E minor, op.72 no.1 is my personal preference if we're going to point at a favorite.

It got worse before it got better.

What was initially just pain slowly turned into feverishness and the world became swathed in heat that was so unforgiving it was as if Crowley was trapped inside his own personal sauna. Most people speculate that Hell is all boiling heat and fire, but the reality is that the concept of hellfire has given them the wrong idea. Hellfire doesn’t burn demons. If Hell is anything it's ennui and paperwork, endless desk jobs and other torments that last thousands of years. 

Think of the shittiest job you can, something like working retail during the holiday season. You got it? Good, now double your expectations and settle yourself in for an eternity of that with breaks just short enough to be vexing rather than restful; where you don’t have to sleep, don’t get to go home at the end of the day, and the whole place smells like over stewed cabbage and body odor from the sheer amount of people that are packed in. That will give you a pretty accurate representation. It was no wonder he had wanted out.

This, however, was a whole new experience to file away as he had never let himself feel properly sick in his whole life. Self-inflicted things like hangovers could be easily pushed away and any of the things humans passed along to one another never seemed to stick. He didn’t know how humans managed to deal with it. He supposed many didn’t when he thought about it. He was sure his brain was slowly baking in his skull. 

Sweat beaded and ran down his body, leaving him moist, sticking to the sheets, and distinctly salty. He gape open-mouthed as he breathed, sucking in air and never feeling like he was getting enough of it for what seemed like an eternity before Aziraphale was back at his side. The equilibrium of the world swam as Aziraphale slipped his arms underneath him, hoisted him up bodily as if he weighed hardly more than a bag of sugar, and carried him skin against skin from the room.

Water was running, Crowley could hear it first distantly and then growing louder, the sharp overhead light too much after being in a dim one lamp room for so long. He made a shocked gasp of discomfort when Aziraphale lowered them both down into the bathtub and cried out. He scrambled to try to get up but Aziraphale’s arms tightened around him, trapping him in place. Since when had he been this strong?

“‘It’ss fuckin’ cold!” He informed him. 

“It’s not that cold, you’re just too warm. I know it’s uncomfortable but bear with it, my dear. I was told it would help to break the fever.

“Who ssaid?”

“I called and asked Mr. Pulsifer if he had any suggestions. No context as to how to deal with such things myself. This is what his mother used to do when he was particularly sick, apparently, he said to just lay you down in it but well...”

Oh, he was going to kill _ him_, first chance he got. He scrambled at the edge of the tub with one hand as the angel turned the water off, shaking so hard he couldn’t manage to curl his fingers around the ceramic lip and was ultimately pulled back and adjusted like an errant kitten.

He was feeling equal parts hateful and nauseated while Aziraphal just swabbed water over him lightly with a washcloth. He couldn’t even rub two thoughts together enough to tease the angel about it, so he just tucked in as much of himself against the horrible bastard as possible to try and suck up whatever body heat he could give. It was a good thing he didn’t eat most of the time because he would have likely lost it. He settled as best as he could.

“Better?”

“No.” He said, sounding blunt through his clenched teeth. He wasn’t even doing it out of anger anymore, he was scared he would bite his tongue off.

He wasn’t an angel at all. He was a demon, the worst most harrowingly unmoveable demon in the whole history of the pox pustule ridden... 

Aziraphale cradled him to him with a hand in his hair, his head pillowed against one shoulder, just holding him while he endured it. The washcloth was wrung out over the crown of his head and then pressed to his forehead which stopped water from getting any more into his eyes. He closed them anyhow, his whole body trembling in a way he had seemingly no control over.

His mind flitted to various subjects like how he had absolutely no say in the situation and mentally cursing anyone who could be deemed at fault and anyone related to them in even a vague way, all the while Aziraphale made what he assumed was supposed to be calming soothing sorts of sounds against his hair.

“I’ll take you back to bed soon. Just stay with me here for a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer, my dear.” Aziraphale coaxed. He moved his hand away from his brow and began the whole _water torture_ bit all over again. “I’ll get you some brandy and wrap you up and then I’ll get a book and read to you for a while if you like.” he promised sweetly.

The fight drained out of him somewhere in the middle of all of that, leaving him feeling subtly adrift and heavy. It went on and on like that, and then just when he was convinced Aziraphale was just telling him things to keep him there and pliant he did what he promised.

* * *

Crowley was sitting propped up in bed, record player going in the corner. Aziraphale had moved it up here for him, one of the many things he had done to make things _more comfortable_ for him. He didn’t have the heart to tell him that nothing was particularly comfortable no matter which way he tried to turn it. 

Chopin was playing currently, one of the nocturnes or another. He couldn’t remember which because while they were all distinctive from one another it all started to blur together when it came to the number of them and he found he just didn’t care enough to make an effort at remembering. Piano. More piano. Some _more_ piano. Melancholic, emotional, and interestingly enough vaguely grating on his nerves. He had moved on from that sort of music quite some time ago and had no plans to look back, but Aziraphale liked it and he wasn’t sending him across town to try and locate others. He had started daydreaming about things in an attempt to keep occupied. He had always been imaginative but it took some practice to get something worthwhile started. And so in his mind, he revisited things from the past, embellished on them for forms sake to get through the dry and less savory parts.

He was startled out of it by the sounds of feet on old floorboards. “Well, that was quick. You lasted what, quarter past the hour?”

“Forty-five minutes. I can’t concentrate on it, knowing you’re awake up here all on your lonesome.”

Crowley made a dismissive sort of sound like it was really not that big of a deal. Like he wasn’t secretly happy about it. “Hardly anything big you’re going to miss. Not like you sell books here though, I don’t see why you bother opening up as much as you do.”

“I’ll have you know that I _do_ sell them, thank you very much,” Aziraphale said in a prim manner like he was offended at the suggestion but quickly amended. “Sometimes. If I can’t help it. I sold one oh… three-four weeks ago.”

Crowley grinned at that, baiting him. “I’m not sure that counts, a bookseller who has better things to do than sell books.”

“It does to me. I don’t mark them for obvious reasons, and I sell for higher than they’re worth but some people just don’t know when to leave well enough alone. In fact for _some people_ the more you charge for something, the more they seem to want it. I told the last gentleman I was doing it, I don’t feel right lying about it of course, and he _still_ insisted after all of that.” The angel sounded absolutely put upon to the point of exasperation.

“Such cheek…” he agreed in light amusement, a sarcastic sort of bent to it. He attempted and failed to keep his expression neutral.

The mattress dipped with Aziraphale’s weight as he settled onto his side of the bed. He had begun to think of it as his side because they never switched and often times Aziraphale was there when he was awake, if at all possible. Always fluttering hands and rambling on about something or another when he didn’t think Crowley would rather doze and quietly reading beside him when he did. He had been doing less of that now, sleeping. Though it was no secret that he enjoyed it when he could lately it had been a means to an end rather than a pleasure, a way to simply pass the time and escape.

He drew in a sharp breath when fingers skimmed over his bare arm and the angel grew quiet. It made him more nervous lately when he did that. Aziraphale liked to talk so when he fretted about saying what was on his mind it led Crowley scrambling to try and fill in the blanks. With his somewhat limited knowledge of what was going on around him, It wasn’t always so effective.

“What is it?” Crowley asked.

“Your skin is starting to peel. It’s not that bad but give me a moment...” Aziraphale said in a low soft tone. He could have all the moments he wanted so far as Crowley was concerned, all they had was time. The springs of the bed shifted as he got up from it, leaving the demon to wait for his return, which he did after only a minutes time. “Do you think you might sit up?”

It wasn’t that he couldn’t, it was just easier to sprawl. He sat up now falteringly, the angel providing a bit of assistance to get him where he needed him, gritting his teeth through the process. It wasn’t as bad as it had been initially, proof that he was probably healing even if at a snail’s pace. It was either that or he was getting used to it.

The angel was fussing around with things and then gel sticky fingers touched his skin, making him flinch away from the contact. “I’m afraid to even ask what that is.” he grumbled.

“It’s a salve.” Aziraphale said, the implied tone of _ obviously _apparent and not needing to be stated. 

“Alright, but why do _you_ have it? It isn’t like you need it for anything.”

“There are a lot of things I don’t need but have. Some of the best things they’ve invented are ones you don’t actually need. Do stop fidgeting, Crowley, and stop making that face.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is this one of those things then?”

Aziraphale only gave a soft hum of response to that and persisted, carefully applying a thin layer of the stuff to first his arm and then starting to move onto other spots. It felt mildly disgusting and awkward but he obligingly tipped up his chin when the attention came to his neck. “You’ll just have to trust me.” the angel said.

Crowley squirmed a bit at that but bit his tongue on a great many things he could have said, most of them varying degrees of unhelpful. ‘Shut up’ or ‘Don’t be stupid, angel’ or even ‘I am a demon, you know, we aren’t really known for that’, but what came out instead was ultimately a barely murmured “You’re the only one I trust.” that was implied with all of those other things left unsaid

“Hm?”

“Nothing, angel; record stopped is all...”

He felt a shift of movement and then a warm hand cupped his face, startling him into silence. He grew still, listening, waiting for him to say something, to do something, but the angel remained quiet. It went on long enough that he made a sound of discomfort in the back of his throat, his body becoming increasingly tense the more uncertain he became. What the fuck was he doing? Was he just staring at him?

He tried to lean away, the ambiguity getting the better of him. Aziraphale’s other hand, the still semi-sticky one, came up to the other side of his face, keeping him there. There was an exhalation of warm breath against his face, just right there and so close it made his heart stutter in his chest in surprise.

He struggled to master himself as warm soft fingers explored the skin along his hairline and cheekbone. They drifted downward, one tracing his parted lips at the corner. He swallowed, tongue moistening his bottom lip and began to lean forward into it at just the same time Aziraphale drew away.

“Well, I think your face looks fine for the time being, at least.” Aziraphale said in a neutral tone and a different sort of sensation washed through him. He couldn’t say it was a relief, but there was a definite plummeting sort of feeling. Settling back into the status quo? 

_ He isn’t trying to kiss you, idiot. _

Of course, he wasn’t going to kiss him. What sort of ridiculousness was that? If he had wanted to do _that_ they would have started doing it long before now. They had had thousands of years to start that. And still it left something unsettled within him that he couldn’t quite pinpoint, some unproportionate expectations gone unfulfilled. 

The needle set back in place, piano music resumed.


	3. Chapter 3

It was another day and it was quiet. Aziraphale was attempting to run some quick errands which left Crowley to his own devices for a while. The floorboards under Crowley’s bare feet creaked as he slowly and carefully made his way around the room, mapping the walls, the window, and furniture with his hands.

He had wrapped himself up in Aziraphale’s robe, imagining it to be some painfully awful tartan thing that was offensive to the eyes. It seemed likely. The cotton fabric hung loosely on his more narrow frame, kinder to his skin than his own clothing would have been for a number of reasons, the least of which being that it was buttery soft to the touch.

He found the open doorframe and made his way out into the hallway, pausing to consider his bearing of direction briefly before following along one wall. He let his lips part and inhaled through his mouth and his nose both, scenting the air before he continued and more tasting the greenery and earth against his tongue than actively smelling it

The room he ended up in was nice and bright, he could tell that much. Warm, he thought, as he touched pots, dipped his hand down into them as he encountered them and tested the soil for moisture with his fingertips. He counted them as he moved, trying to keep track. All and accounted for so far as he could tell. The smell of plant life dominated the space, lush and so very alive, a little bit moist and sweet without being cloying

He gave an almost indistinct sound of appreciation when the sole of one foot encountered sun hot wooden floorboards and angled his face down towards it thoughtfully. Well, he had had worse options than that before, it wasn’t like he was exactly spoilt towards his comforts. He gripped the edge of the nearest table, using it to steady himself, kneeling and leaning into the brightness so that he could feel the space out. There was a sizeable square of sunlight coming through the large window.

He pressed first his palm flat to the floor, then his cheek, then as much of the rest of him as he could manage, his eyes lidding in pleasure. He made a sound that may or may not have been very unflattering, though there was no one there to give comment, and then sighed and rolled over onto his back, vaguely squinting against the light and finding some consolation. A delicious lazy drowsiness crept over him, toes curling against the wood, making him uncaringly lax like something inside him was unknotting itself. It was a damned near fantastic feeling.

“I should have come here to begin with.” he said aloud to nobody in particular. To just himself, he supposed.

Something brushed his leg gently, rousing him. He reached down to touch it, finding only delicate tender leaves and vine. The ivy, he thought, the small tendril curling around his fingertips and giving him pause.

He touched his thumb along it fleetingly and then disengaged his fingers from it slowly as to not rip anything, the whole of the place silent aside from the occasional sounds of cars driving by outside. He didn’t know what to say really. What did one say when one’s plants were being unaccountably sympathetic. He didn’t think there was a protocol in place for it. If this was pity the situation was going to be downright unsalvageable.

He swallowed, his mouth firming up into a thin line. “If you have time for all of that then you’d better not be letting yourselves go. I don’t care what he’s told you, this isn’t…” well, it could be a lot of things really and he wasn’t sure just what Aziraphale had been filling their heads with. It could have been anything and it was better if he just didn’t take the time to even consider it. “There better not be any leaf spots.” He finished up with tersely.

And yet it remained quiet. Not a peep. Not a shiver.

“Do you hear me?!” he snarled.

A waited beat and then the ivy rustled appropriately, apparently deciding it would humor him. He cast his eyes around the room for dramatic effect, and then the others followed suit. When the room fell quiet again he felt another brush against his leg and he turned away on his side towards the window, feeling scandalized. “Oh, shut up.” 

He wrapped his arms up around himself and slowly settled back into what he had been doing previous to _that _little discovery. He sniffed to himself and let the heat relax him, not able to maintain his exasperation in the long term.

His eyes lidded once more, and he blinked rapidly trying to stay awake, basking utterly. The possible threat of sunburn be damned. He didn’t do so easily but that at least he figured he could deal with when and if it happened. That was just a normal sort of infliction so it stood to reason a miracle would work on it, right? It sounded reasonable.

In the quiet still of the room, he let his mind drift. It reminded him of Eden. Well, not the wooden floor, that was new, but the atmosphere; the general sort of feeling he was having. More comfortable than laying on a rock at any rate. Small pleasures, back then. The sun, laying in the grass, the trees heavy with ripe fruit, and Aziraphale up along the wall looking out over the distance in rough hewn-linen and feet bare.

Aziraphale.

Aziraphale who watched over it all. Who lifted a wing to shield him from the rain even though he made him nervous. Who smiled or laughed sometimes without meaning to just because he was at a loss of knowing how else to deal with things. Who cared far too much about everything. Who was taking care of him even still now after all of these years.

_ Aziraphale. _

He let his eyes close and tilted his face down to press against the floor, letting it touch his temple, his brow, his nose, his lips. He exhaled slowly, a feeling in his chest precarious and covetous. He tried to keep hold of the scene, remembered looking up at that wall and thinking if ever there was a place to sow doubt it would be here, but it wasn’t as clear in his mind as it had once been. And honestly, he had never really meant any of that, It was just a thing he thought he should do, thought he should _want_ to do; being a demon and all. Drag them low, get up there and make some trouble.

He wasn’t for certain how long he lay there just thinking, or if perhaps he had in fact even dozed off. He was drifting there somewhere in between, thoughts ebbing like tides. Remembering the feeling of something only for it to slip back into just a peaceful knowingness… just a vague feeling of gathering it close and having it at hand. Occasionally opening his eyes a little against the sunlight and then letting them drift closed once more.

He felt something then that pulled him back to wakefulness, a little twang about his subconscious. Like a cord being gently plucked and he shifted his body so he could turn his head towards it. More a low near-silent reverberation than a sound but it drew his attention and he blinked uselessly in that direction.

“You’re wearing my robe.” Aziraphale said in an odd tone as if he had just walked in and had discovered that everything ran counterculture to what he had always believed.

Crowley considered this in the way of someone who was very sleep dazed and comfortable, which is to say briefly and without really being able to think about it in any depth. He smiled. “I could give it back if you want?”

“No. No, you should- you should keep it. For now.

“If you insist.” He stayed where he was, in no great hurry to get anywhere. Where would he be running off to anyway? He was at a loss, somberness creeping into him at an alarming pace as he got his wits, such as they were, about him. He let his head fall back against the floor, he was drowning in it suddenly. It wasn’t quite a trapped sort of feeling but adjacent to it. It welled up like a bleeding cut and he struggled to shove all of it down, to staunch it, to smother it. 

Aziraphale settled next to him. He heard him sigh. “I don’t think I’ve ever had occasion to be down here.” the angel said gently. He meant the floor obviously, not the room itself, though that might be as well. And he wasn’t sure why but Crowley had the distinct inclination that he was working his way up to something else. All of his internal alarm bells were going off, telling him that whatever this was it might be a bad idea.

Yet there was nowhere to escape to. He couldn’t exactly make a speedy exit and there was nowhere to go even if he did. What was he going to do, go lock himself in the bathroom and hope that Aziraphale somehow didn’t notice? Yeah, that would go well. He stayed where he was, his pride and dignity not being able to take the mental image he had drummed up. He blew out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding.

“I don’t suppose you’d have a reason to.” he said. If it came out sounding just a little bit bitter nobody acknowledged it.

“No, not really.” The angel agreed and quickly went on. “But it’s nice.”

“Nice, he says.”

The angel made some small sound of agreement. “Yes, being here with you is. It always is. It always has been.”

He made some strangled sort of sound in the back of his throat. It was meant to be a growl but instead came out as more of a choked whine than anything. He hadn’t said _ he _was nice but it was a near thing. He hoped that wasn’t where they were going with this. He shifted but otherwise didn’t move, and Aziraphale went on.

“I’m glad you’re here. Not… not the circumstances of course, but…oh, bugger, what am I trying to say.”

And Crowley couldn’t help it, he laughed. Despite everything else, it bubbled up in him so suddenly and unexpectedly that he choked off in surprise. He felt like such a mess. All of it felt like such a mess. It wasn’t that it was actually funny or that he thought it was funny at all. In fact, it sort of hurt if he was being honest with himself.

Not for the first time he wished that he could see Aziraphale’s face. He only had words and tone to go by and he found that somewhat lacking. He almost said as much when a hand cupped his face He heard fabric rustling against fabric as Aziraphale shifted and then the sun was eclipsed by shadow. He opened his mouth and drew in breath to say something. It was cut short by the press of lips on his own and abruptly his mind ground to a halt, unable to process anything else.

It was brief. A few seconds at best. Chaste, really, but the act had his heart beating in his chest so hard that he thought it might fail him. Not that it would be the end of him if it happened, mind you, but hearts had a funny way about them when excited. They tended to make things more disorientating when they raced like that. Better to not get them involved at all if you had a say in it.

Aziraphale’s voice was calm when he pulled away. Calmer than Crowley thought it should have been given the circumstances.

“What I mean to say, dear boy, is that I love you very much.”

He struggled to speak. To do much of anything, and he suspected he was probably goggling a bit. He was certainly surprised at the forwardness.

“Crowley?” And this time the angel sounded a little concerned.

“I ah… I think I should have a lie-down.” He managed.

“You are laying down.”

“Oh,” He said stupidly. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the characterizations are starting to take on a life of their own in some ways. You know, I didn't actually mean to write a kissing scene. I got right up to just before it and it felt like it was leaning towards that. I went to bed thinking “No, I won't do that, I'll string it on for a while longer. It's too soon.” but then when I got up the next day and started writing again it still happened.


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley waved his left hand back and forth beside his head. He could see it, at least a little bit. Not when he looked at it directly of course but if he looked straight ahead he could definitely see the shape of it in his peripheral vision. There was also something of a small fish-eyed point of clarity on the right side. He had dismissed it at first but after several days it seemed to have expanded.

It was getting better. Easier. It was all he could do to try to temper his expectations to something realistic so that the optimism bubbling up in him didn’t get out of hand. He had never really liked the way his eyes looked before or been grateful for the fact that he had to wear shades over them most of the time to keep humans from seeing him for what he was, but he was grateful now. That thin layer of metal, plastic, and glass was probably the only reason he still had eyes at all.

He put that aside in his mind, not wanting to think about it too much or too deeply. The flinching primal fear and shock of it was enough to make him want to scream. He chose instead to concentrate on the sounds of Aziraphale moving about nearby. There was a soft thunk on the table near his elbow and Aziraphale took his hand, guiding it to the warm mug he set by him. He picked it up and sipped it gingerly.

“I was thinking we might go out today. I think you could probably use some fresh air.” Aziraphale said. He had phrased it in a questioning tone but Crowley didn’t think he was asking him entirely. It seemed more like a firm suggestion. “I thought we might go to the park?”

He considered this, choosing to continue to sip at his coffee rather than answer right away, his stomach already tied up in knots thinking about it. It was just a place. They had spent hours there, met there over and over again throughout the decades. There was the knowledge that he’d been there before. That it was a simple thing he could and had done easily before. 

“The weather is nice. We could feed the ducks.” Aziraphale hastened to add.

“Alright.” He said. He had to force the word out.

He struggled between several different conflicting emotions. There was the desire to do what Aziraphale was asking of him, and then there was the aversion to being anywhere near the place. He didn’t want to go. Hell was about the only place he wanted to go less. He set his mug down on the tabletop heavily, the taste acrid in his mouth. Something of his reservations must have shown on his face because a warm hand covered his forearm. 

“Or we could just go somewhere.” Aziraphale relented. ”It doesn’t matter where.”

The angel’s free hand brushed against his face and he found himself leaning into it, wanting more of it. Always more, like he could never have his fill of it once it got started. His greediness for the touch had been startling the first time it happened. They had words for things like that, words he didn’t want to dignify with too much thought. Words that felt like a punch in the gut.

If Crowley had thought things would change after Aziraphale’s declaration, he’d been wrong. If anything it was mostly business as usual. There were little differences that he noticed of course. Touches that were a bit more lingering but only just so. Aziraphale kissed him occasionally, but only ever on the brow, the cheek, maybe the hand. Never again on the mouth, and never more than that same chaste brush of lips. The few times he had tried to lean up into him to expedite matters the angel had tactfully redirected his efforts with a firm hand and if he was honest with himself, it left him floundering, unsure of just where they actually stood.

It was possible that his idea of the next steps they should take and Aziraphale’s ideas on the subject were not on the same page. He had very human sorts of ideas on the subject. Very human sorts of desires influenced no doubt by the duration he had spent around them. Angels were not generally interested in the pleasures of the flesh, but then again, demons weren’t either as a rule and they were anything if not atypical examples.

He put his hand over Aziraphale’s and turned his face into it so that he could kiss his palm. That was a fairly safe option. He didn’t push too much to keep him from pulling away.

“No, I… I’ll try.”

“If you’re sure.”

He wasn’t, but if he didn’t try he would always wonder. Thinking about something and doing it were two different things. 

* * *

They walked arm in arm, Aziraphale keeping a solid grip on him like he expected Crowley to just wander off if he was left too unsupervised. They had taken a cab most of the way there but were walking the last little bit of it. It was the first time he had been properly dressed in over two weeks, the first time he had been able to tolerate the feel of cloth constantly rubbing against his skin.

“There’s a step up…” Aziraphale prompted, slowing so that he could manage it easily, and then they continued at a more normal pace. “How are we doing, my dear?”

“I’d be doing better if you would stop asking me that.” That was the third time since they’d left the bookstore. Every little thing felt like it was needling against his last nerve.

Aziraphale made an annoyed sound. “I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine. I’ve been fine. I’ve managed walking for quite a while now, Angel. I don’t think it’s changed too much since I did it last.”

“Yes, but you grabbed for my hand even before we made it out the door. You felt vulnerable.”

“I sure as hell didn’t say that. That isn’t anything like what I said.”

“It was implied.”

“There was no implications to it!” He hissed in frustration.

Aziraphale drew to a sudden abrupt stop and he had no choice but to follow, linked as they were to one another. He heard the angel huff out a heavy breathy sigh. He let him go to turn Crowley towards him, careful hands framing his face and gently keeping him there.

“My dear boy, I am trying to help you. I know this is hard for you and yes I know that you don’t want it to be like this…” Aziraphale said in low tones.

“It’s not-”

“Shut your mouth.” Aziraphale snapped abruptly and Crowley did. His mouth clacked shut almost seemingly of its own accord in shock, eyes widening behind his shades at what very much sounded like an order.

He heard Aziraphale take in a slow breath and exhale as if trying to compose himself, and when he spoke once more his voice held a certain amount of flat testiness that hadn’t been there before.

“Now, I’m going to lead you to the park and we’ll see how it is. If you decide that it’s too much for you to deal with, you are going to tell me and we will go and have a nice lunch somewhere instead. And I have the expectation that you _will_ tell me. I know the situation is uncomfortable but whatever this is, it needs to stop right now. I’ve had just about enough of getting snapped at and so help me, Crowley if you keep on, I swear I’m going to smite the ever-living shit out of you. Do we understand one another?”

He kept his mouth shut and nodded meekly.

“Good. So glad we had this little talk.” Aziraphale said, his voice pleasant once more.

It was never a good thing when the angel started swearing, such occasions were near nonexistent and he wasn’t brave enough to give it a test. It was always oh sugar or at worst he might say damn.

He was shepherded back in the direction they’d been walking in, one of Aziraphale’s hands firmly on the small of his back, the other on his arm. He could do little more than stagger along for the ride, trying to moor himself emotionally and get his bearings. He tried to puzzle out the reactions he was having. 

First and foremost there was a trill of giddiness underlined by well… he wouldn’t call it fear exactly. Uncertainty? There was also a tiny bit of heated recklessness, the kind you get when you could have done something really stupid, part of you wants to in fact, but you’ve chosen to step back from it. He had known Aziraphale for such a long time, and while he couldn’t say that he ever forgot what he was, sometimes he thought he was bad at considering the principality with any real depth.

In short, he was sort of enjoying it.

He could tell when the pathways changed, could hear the birds first, hear the way the breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees. Despite himself, he grew tense with every step they took, eventually stopping. Aziraphale’s hand moved against his back, trying to soothe him, not pushing him on.

“Are you alright?”

He began to nod but stopped as he considered it and eventually shook his head.

“Alright. It’s alright. Let’s go back then. We can try again later if you like.”

“How close are we?” He asked because he had to know for sure. For all he knew they were standing right in the blessed middle of where it happened. 

“We’re still a ways off yet.”

He resisted when Aziraphale began to steer him away from it, but only a little bit. He blamed it on nerves rather than any real desire to stay, or any want to continue on. 

* * *

Lunch, as it turned out, was eaten inside of a pub they had been to a good handful of times. It was a nice place so far as pubs went, had a bit of a traditional feel to it. It was a little after lunch so the place was quiet, and they ate upstairs to avoid the few people who were there. Aziraphale ordered a variety of things to eat. A tomato, mozzarella, black olive, orzo pasta, and pesto salad. A meat pie with salmon and prawns in a parsley sauce. Pudding.

Crowley ordered coffee.

He didn’t eat much as a rule, hardly ever really. He’d given it a good go early on and found that it made him drowsy so now he only did so when he was curious about something he had never encountered before or if he was keeping up appearances. It occurred to Crowley the fourth time a fork turned up at his mouth that he had seriously misjudged the situation of what lunch out today would entail. His hand wrapped around the one that held the fork in question and he arched an eyebrow. 

“I don’t actually have to eat, angel. Also, and I feel the need to stress this point, we’re in public so I’m a little old for this.” 

“Oh, who cares, there's nobody looking.”

“But they could be.”

Aziraphale pulled his hand away from him and made a soft displeased noise.

He had a good second to think he had won the argument before the angel snapped his fingers, averting all attention from them entirely. He sputtered a bit of his coffee, both his eyebrows going up this time as he set it down. “Did you just use a miracle so you could _feed_ me?” He asked, incredulous.

“I have and I did,” Aziraphale said succinctly, sounding prim like he was just daring him to say anything about it. The fork returned to his mouth but he leaned back away from it. “It was just a small one.”

“Angel…”

“Do I need to bribe you to eat as well?” Aziraphale asked.

“You can certainly try.”

“What do you want?”

He considered that carefully. Lately, there were a lot of things he wanted but it didn’t take him long to single in on the one closest to the surface. “A kiss. On the mouth. A real kiss.”

“Fine.”

“For each bite…” He added, pressing his luck. He was ready to find out just how far all of this went and just how much putting food into him was worth. It wasn’t like Aziraphale couldn’t easily back out of the situation. As it was, he thought it was silly. Pointless even.

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, likely thinking it over carefully. “Fine.”

Crowley leaned forward and allowed the fork into his mouth. He smiled as he chewed and swallowed it down. “That’s one.”

“Demon.” He wasn't sure how someone could sound both resentful and fond but somehow Aziraphale managed it.

“Angel.” He said back sweetly.

He took a second bite, feeling rather pleased with himself. “Two.”

“Are you going to do that through the whole meal?”

“I was thinking I might, yeah.” Crowley admitted.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has sex in it. It isn't what I would call particularly graphic but this way those who don't want to read it can skip it. I was trying to go for passionate and a bit pretty rather than hot but it is always so hard to tell with these things. Somehow I feel like Aziraphale is running this whole show, even if it isn't from his POV.

“You can’t avoid me forever, Aziraphale.” Crowley called aloud as he slowly made his way down the hallway of the flat. The angel had put him off at first feigning being tired and now said angel was doing his best to make sure he was in whatever room Crowley wasn’t. He was dodging him and it was maddening. 

“I can certainly try.” he heard Aziraphale murmur aloud to himself.

He changed direction and headed towards the kitchen. The angel was just getting up and preparing to move once more, book in hand when Crowley cut off his exit. The demon put his hands bracketing the doorway, holding onto the encasement so that he couldn’t easily bypass him without moving him aside. He still couldn’t see all that well but it had come back enough that he could navigate where he was going as long as he wasn’t too quick about it. It was murky but the small patches he did have were slowly expanding and getting clearer with every day.

Aziraphale pulled up short looking perplexed as to what he should do now that he was _ trapped_. 

“Never worked before.” Crowley informed him. In fact, he had more or less turned up where Aziraphale was over and over again since the first time they had met with increasing frequency. In fact, _sometimes_ he had kept tabs on the angel. The fact was that Aziraphale was terrible at subterfuge. 

“Yes, well…”

“Someone is trying to skip town without settling up on payment.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.”

“You’re one to talk. You know, If you don’t actually _ want _ to kiss me you could just say so. I can take it. We could skip all of this…” He gestured with one hand, frowning. “whatever this is.” At least then he’d know where they stood, and at least then he could retreat to get himself back in order.

“That is hardly the problem, my dear.”

Aziraphale used the momentary break in his fortifications to try to push past him, but Crowley, having none of it, levered him up against the door jamb with his arm and crowded in against him. He had no illusions he could keep him there for very long if he actually wanted to escape but the angel only sighed.

“Then just stop me if you don’t want this. Just say no.” Crowley said. He slowly leaned in to brush against Aziraphale’s lips. Once, then twice chastely. When the angel didn’t try to push him off he leaned in to try for more, nibbling at his bottom lip and then fitting their mouths together more fully.

It was when their tongues met that Aziraphale made a soft sound. He gripped Crowley by the upper arms and pulled him around to roughly push him up against the nearby wall and _ oh _… that was a change of pace.

Crowley could barely keep up, feeling dazed as the kiss grew near frantic. He wasn’t even the one doing most of the kissing anymore, he was just along for the experience. He gasped when the angel broke away, tilting his head back to give access as the angel moved lower to work his way down the column of his throat. He thread his fingers through blond hair, clutching it tightly in between his fingers.

Aziraphale pulled away from him then, flush-faced and panting. “We… we should stop. If we don’t stop now, I may not be able to.” Aziraphale admitted.

“And that would be a problem?”

"I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage."

“Come again?”

“I wanted to wait until you were- until you felt better. So we’d be on equal footing and so you wouldn’t think I was…”

“Wait. Wait... Let me get this straight. All of this time, all of this dancing around and avoiding things was because you didn’t want, what... so I wouldn’t feel like the _big bad angel_ was making unwanted advances toward me while I was out of sorts? You’re saying you’ve been holding back since the other day?”

“Before actually…” Aziraphale admitted.

His mind scrambled to think of before that. “When you were putting the salve on?” he asked uncertainly.

“Oh Crowley, long before that, really now. I was going to tell you but it always seemed so dangerous, and then the world tried to end and it didn’t seem like the right time then either. Then everything seemed settled and I was just working myself up to it and then...”

“And then I got hurt.” He finished for him.

“And I felt I should put it off. I was going to wait to tell you but you were so despondent and I just couldn’t anymore.”

He let his head fall back against the wall with a soft thud as he looked at Aziraphale. What he could make of his expression such as it was, seemed uncertain and just a bit worried. When he blew out an exasperated breath, the angel’s mouth compressed into an unhappy line. “You make things so complicated sometimes. There is never going to be a perfect time. Not now, not ever.” Still, he reached out to wrap his hand around the back of Aziraphale’s neck, dragging him closer. He kissed him briefly again and then rest his forehead against Aziraphale’s, their noses brushing. "You should take advantage, angel. I want you to. I'm asking you to."

They stared at one another for what seemed to Crowley to be far too long for a promising response, Azirapahel considering him seriously. When the angel eased back from him so that they weren’t pressed so tightly together he let him. The feeling of loss began to creep into him silently, disappointment and resignation threatening to follow close at its heels.

_ No, don’t pull away. I want you, I need you. Please don’t pull away. _

Aziraphale took his hand and drew it up to his lips, kissing it briefly, before drawing him along with a tug, guiding him towards the back of the building where the bedroom lay. Though it was still day, the room was mostly darkened aside from what little light came in through the lone small window.

Crowley reached up to fumble with his shirt, his hands shaking and breath uneven but Aziraphael covered his hands with his own, stilling him.

The angel ran his hands downward and skimmed the shirt up and over his head and then pushed him back onto the bed with a gentle hand. He popped the button of Crowley’s jeans and took hold of the bottoms of his pant legs and began pulling, peeling the material down until it could be discarded. That too ended up somewhere on the floor.

He watched Aziraphale, transfixed as he began to carefully unbutton his waistcoat, the worn material parting with practiced ease. He lay it over the end of the bed frame and undid his bowtie, and then his shirt giving them similar treatment and then moved down over him, to place the first tentative exploratory kisses to his chest.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Aziraphale asked him.

He laughed a little at that.

“It’s the only thing I’ve been sure of for a long time, angel.” For such a long time. He thought that he had loved him since around the beginning, that was when the seeds of it had certainly been planted leastways.

Their lips met, nicely at first, but it didn’t stay that way. Aziraphale’s fingers thread through his hair, holding him there as he began to roughly take his mouth once more. There was nothing hurried about it, but it was claiming and deep; Just this side of too hard with needful desperation. They were a mass of grasping fingers and hands mapping one another, wresting off what little clothing still remained so that they could get at additional skin. He ran his hands down Aziraphale’s broad back and flank, grabbing his hips when he began to grind them together

“Oh, my dear…”

Crowley shifted them a bit, aligning them so that he could press up against one of Aziraphale’s thighs, and gave him his in return, beginning to writhe against him and make him gasp. He stared up at him open-mouthed, sharing air they were so close. They rocked in a slow rut, each time the motion getting a little bit more demanding and hard until it had him crying out, brow knitting and expression crumpling.

“Please angel. Please...”

Aziraphale’s dark blue eyes slit open, the desire in them scorching to behold. The angel reached up at once and snapped his fingers and suddenly he was changing their positioning once more, straddling him and lining him up as he began to ebb back to meet him, the way already slick and ready for him.

“Oh fuck-” Crowley whined, turning his head away and baring his teeth.

Aziraphale drew himself up to gaze down at him, looking both pleased and ecstatic. The old bed frame protested as they moved, Aziraphale’s movements becoming sharper by the second and it was all Crowley could do to brace his heels against the cool surface and push up into him in return.

There was no hope of him lasting long. He bowed back on the bed, hands pawing at sweat-damp skin, listening to a litany of the angel’s soft encouragement as he spilled himself inside of him like he was doing something particularly wonderful and praiseworthy. He watched the angel take himself in hand, stroking himself to completion on his skin and looking at him with such tenderness that it made his heart ache.

Was it supposed to be like this, he wondered in a dazed fugue. He was drowsy, relaxed, nearly useless. His eyes fluttered when Aziraphale leaned down and kissed him. He reached for him as he began to pull away, chasing his mouth with his own briefly. Aziraphale said something to him, but other than _ stay here _, he wasn’t able to process much of it. 

He realized he must have dozed off because the next thing he knew Aziraphale was back and in the midst of cleaning him up. The angel pressed in against his side and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close. Aziraphale was all soft skin and mussed blond curls and he thought it was glorious.

Aziraphale’s afterglow really was something of a manifested glow, not something physical precisely but you could tell it was there around him if you knew how to look, holy as anything. There was a part of him that thought it should have burned him, that he shouldn’t be able to take it in, but all he felt was soothed by it.

He wasn’t sure what he looked like at the moment or what sort of expression he wore but whatever the reason Aziraphale was looking at him in a way he usually reserved for favorite pastries or a particularly well sought after volume obtained. A combination of relish and hungry satisfaction. It looked good on him, but then again, most things did.

“Good afternoon, dear. How are we feeling?” Aziraphale asked, sounding content.

Crowley considered the question, letting his eyes trail down what skin was still on display with a renewed piqued interest. He made a bit of a sound as he exhaled, a little grumbling groan of a thing, reaching for him.

Aziraphale smiled at him and huffed a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling up in amusement. It made him smile as well. He couldn’t really help it. He was done for, he’d never be able to cover it up again and he wasn’t completely sure he even wanted to, not with the sort of response it got. Their mouths met a few times, but it lacked the urgency it had previously had. They could linger over it, draw it out.

“Is that good?” Aziraphale asked in between kisses. It was obvious that he knew that it was. He just wanted to hear him say it, the bastard.

“Perfect.” Crowley admitted.

Aziraphale made an agreeable sound and sat up a bit, reaching for a glass of water on the bedside table and taking a sip of it.

“In fact, I think you should do it again.”

Aziraphale sort of half choked, half snorted, with his mouth still at the lip of the glass, a smile on his lips as he pulled away. He coughed once to clear his voice, but delight danced in his eyes. “Just now?” he asked.

Crowley shrugged and arched his eyebrows. “I’d hardly say no.”

“I think I may have started something irrevocable.”

  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get back on track with posting. So, this is a secondary sex scene. At first I was just going to have it only run up to a point and then move on to other things but a friend told me that I should finish it out as a full scene so here we are. This one is a bit more explicit than the last one. I hope you enjoy it. Thank you guys for being so understanding.

Crowley was pulled from sleep by the feeling of being touched. The only light to be had was a little residual dimness coming from somewhere down the hall. Even the world outside the window was dark with night. He had no idea just what time it was.

A warm hand palmed him, stroked him into an easy hardness with a single-minded focus that was frankly a little bit impressive. He’d say this for Aziraphale, once he really put his mind towards something he wasn’t half-hearted about it. Lips mapped the back of his neck, hot and suckling, probably leaving a mark with the way he was going on.

He grasped for words and found them hard to come by, making what he managed a short strand of mangled nonsense syllables and half-formed sounds. “Angel…” he did manage, eventually. The word was like a plea or a prayer, like benediction against his tongue. He murmured it softly over and over again, heat suffusing his ears.

Here he had thought he’d be the more physical one but as it turned out, he had been wrong. In the few days they had been at this it had dramatically shifted his view of the situation in ways that made him kick himself for his own short-sightedness.

Crowley had always thought he’d be the more aggressive one, the more sexual one, or maybe the _ only _ sexual one. He had thought, wrongly, that he would be more experienced. He had _ thought _ he would have to tempt and seduce him into it each time. That Aziraphale would be demure, that he would be fussy.

As it turned out Crowley didn’t think he knew much about anything. He suspected he was in fact, probably an idiot, because he had seen the signs of it all along and they just hadn’t added up. He had seen how Aziraphale had taken to eating, after all, and he had seen how he consumed wine. He had seen how he worked his way through books voraciously like he needed them in order to survive. All of It should have been obvious. 

Aziraphale rolled him onto his back and took him by the chin briefly, kissing him before beginning to make his way southward.

“I was sssleeping, you know…” Crowley mumbled. He pressed the tip of his tongue to the backside of his teeth, willing his hissing under control.

“Feel free to continue that if you like,” Aziraphale said in return.

Their eyes met, and Crowley drew in a sharp breath as the angel smiled in a fashion he thought angels shouldn’t very well be allowed or able to. It was indulgent, soft, but also vaguely wicked. He wondered if somehow things had gotten mixed up all those years ago, but only for a second. Nobody should be able to look that appealing. It lacked fair play.

“That’s not how it works.”

“Really? Are you sure?” There was a light playful quality to Aziraphale’s voice.

He didn’t even dignify that with an answer, only gave him an exasperated sort of look.

Aziraphale gave a light hum, that could have been acknowledgement or just as well have been thoughtfulness as he bent down to do things Crowley found far more interesting than talking with his mouth. He had to look away from the sight of Aziraphale swallowing him down or risk losing control of himself. It was a near thing as it was, even gazing up blearily at the ceiling.

“We may... have to set some restrictions, I’m not sure how much of this I can take.”

This statement of fact merely seemed to amuse Aziraphale. The angel pushed up and reached over to the bedside table, looking through it in the scant light briefly before moving back to kneel between Crowley’s legs. The tube he held in his hand gave a squeaky pop as he opened it and he gave him an appraising look, biting his bottom lip.

Crowley swallowed, his throat feeling suddenly thick due to nerves. He rallied himself after a moment and shifted to better accommodate, putting on a brave if not bold expression. “I could make it easier and… change things up a bit if you like.”

“No, I think not. Not this time, at least. I find I rather like the look of you as you are.”

“Couldn’t tell. You’re being _ very _ subtle about it.” Crowley said, trying for bland and not quite meeting it. The slight quirk to his lips probably didn’t help matters.

“Oh, Is that so?”

“Everyone likes to be appreciated, angel.” He chastised.

“Let me be far less obscure then so you can properly understand the depth of my appreciation,” Aziraphale said.

Aziraphale didn’t need to, Crowley thought, because if he actually had any questions about it, the look in his eyes already said plenty if the heat in them was anything to go by. He felt a bit breathless when the angel moved over him, grabbing one of the pillows and lifting him a bit so that he could slide it under his hips.

He sucked in a sharp breath as Aziraphale’s thick slickened finger first explored and then breached him, a second one quickly joining it in short order.

“Relax.” The angel coaxed.

“Trying. I’ve not… done this much.” he admitted. Only once before, actually, he didn’t say. Because while he could let a lot of things slide, his pride wasn’t one of them under most circumstances.

“Let me distract you then.”

Unlike the encounters he had with Aziraphale before, they seemed to be going about things in a strictly mortal sort of fashion this time. It made things both less jarring and also in some ways harder to deal with. Aziraphale leaned down over him again, kissing at him anywhere that could be reached. He tangled his hands up in soft white-blond hair, directing him to where he liked it, and though the angel laughed a little about it, he acquiesced.

Crowly gasped at the dull pleasure Aziraphale’s fingers caused when he began flexing them. He arched into it the best he could, trying to move his hips.

“Just there?” Aziraphale asked lightly.

“Fff-uck, yes, just… right-right like that.”

They parted just enough to look at one another, the angel’s expression shifting to serious as he studied his expression. The backlighting from the doorway only did the angel more favors, made him look more appealing and ethereal as it illuminated the edges of his hair, his tongue tucked up into the corner of his mouth like he got when he was trying to concentrate on something with singular intent focus.

“Aziraphale.”

“You are so beautiful, Crowley. So very beautiful. Every bit of you...” Aziraphale whispered to him. Their lips met and he spoke between kisses, keeping his words soft. Just for him. “You are so very...”

“Angel, please.” Don’t, he wanted to say, but it came out as a plea.

Aziraphale shushed him sweetly, less of a sound than a movement of lips. They shifted around and realigned themselves properly, taking a moment to prepare for comfort’s sake and then he was slowly ebbing into him with slow movements of his hips.

Crowley clutched at him, both for the sake of closeness and also because he wasn’t completely sure he could stand it any other way. He felt like he was unraveling as it was. His hand grasped at Aziraphale’s shoulder briefly but the angel shrugged it away so that he could take up his hand with his own, pressing the back of his to the mattress.

What was before just a slow light movement became more pronounced as Aziraphale’s hips made a steady gradual beat against his own. He let his head list back against the pillow, sucking down gasps of air on the inhale at the heady exquisite feel of being filled.

Aziraphale’s hands slipped down to take hold of his legs and he canted his body a bit to get it at just the angle he wanted. “Right there.” he heard the angel murmur once more and If what they had been doing before had been lovemaking this was certainly closer to fucking.

“So very good,” Aziraphale whispered.

If he meant like this, or in general, Crowley didn’t know. He moved his hand to his face as he turned it away, trying to stifle the weak needy sounds he was making, the pleasure cresting sudden and almost too sharp, making him writhe and grow tense. He felt the angel grow rigid against him, and then he pulsed and throbbed within his body as he spilled. 

In the aftermath he found himself staring up at the angel who was tucked in against him, cheek resting on one upturned hand as he looked down at him.

“You always have this look just afterwards,” Aziraphale said, a small smile touching his expression. He touched him gently, like he was a fine precious thing, just running his fingers against whatever skin he could.

“What sort of look?” Crowley asked, his words unsteady. Pleasure drunk and satisfied, it was as if all of his tension and energy had leaked from his limbs, leaving him an uncoordinated half-dazed mess of his former self. He was at least eighty percent sure if he tried to stand right now, it wouldn’t go very well. Good thing he had nowhere to be. He just hoped he didn’t look stupid.

Aziraphale made a considering sort of sound at that. “It’s as if you aren’t quite sure what to make of the situation. As if you aren’t quite sure what to make of me.” the angel said.

Crowley only made a soft sound at that, his brain sluggishly trying to formulate just what he did actually feel about the situation.

Aziraphale’s smile grew. There was laughter in his voice. “Yes, very articulate of you, dear.”

“Shut it. You try forming coherent thought after all of that.”

“I _ was _ there,” Aziraphale informed him.

“Yes. I remember. Hard to forget that part. I’ll probably take_ that _ bit with me through the end times. Who knew angels could sweat so much?”

Aziraphale’s nose wrinkled up just a bit at that and Crowley thought it was terribly _ cute _.

“Yes, well…”

The demon smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The smile Aziraphale gave in in return was soft and fond, his eyes heavy-lidded with relaxation though he was starting to show some interest once again.

Crowley only knew it for what it was because he had seen him level that same look at many a dessert cart over the years. A quiet sort of anticipatory look that was also just a bit coy, like he was carefully considering his options. Unable to leave it unremarked on he gave his lover an arch look.

“You never take me anywhere nice anymore. No dancing, no dinner… what happened to the romance?” Crowley groused in false dramatic fashion.

Aziraphale huffed at that, his eyebrows rising. “Forgive me, my dear, you are just entirely too tempting. I shall endeavor to do better. I only hope you’ll be patient with me.” he said in return.

“I’ll see what I can manage.”

“It’s just that I have a lot of love to give, you see.”

“Ah, well, you’re an angel. I don’t think that strictly needs saying.”

Their lips met and then parted, only to meet once again, Crowley’s hand ending up in short pale hair when they met a third time.

“I’ll write you a poem, I promise.” Aziraphale murmured to him.

The demon just made a soft agreeable sound. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so, this is it, the end. I need to tie things up and move onto other things. Thank you to those of you who have been understanding and supportive, I really appreciate that. It means a lot to me.

It was only right that he went home. After several weeks of being shut up in the bookstore, he had thought this was the next obvious course of action. He could move well enough, his eyes were almost back to normal aside from the odd blurry spot here and there. There was no real reason to stay. Not like he had been, anyhow. They could still go out and meet up for a meal or in the back of the shop for drinks, maybe go out and see a theatre production and things could just go back to normal.

Only, they weren’t normal. They were about as far from normal as you could get for being an exiled demon. He had deluded himself right up until the point that he had made it in through the front door of his flat that it was and then he started to notice little things like how empty the whole place seemed. How jarring it was to find himself here. He had to remind himself that he liked it empty, thank you very much and that this was, in fact, a style choice and not something that had been hoisted on him.

He stalked through the living room as he drew his shades off, and plunked them on the coffee table before continuing on, only to pause several steps down the hallway and backtrack to the sofa. Because on his sofa, on his very straight-lined and uncomfortable leather sofa, on his very expensive modern sofa sat…

Crowley rubbed at his eyes and the bridge of his nose, exhaling all of the air out of him in something that bordered at a cross between a sigh and a groan. He let his head tip back and he blinked up at the ceiling, trying to settle himself before looking once more.

They were still there.

“Fuck. Well, that doesn’t go with anything now, does it?”

He stalked the couple of paces it took to reach the sofa and peered down at one of the offenders. Tartan. Of course, it was tartan, what else would it be? What else in the nine circles of hell could it _ever _have been if not tartan and not just any tartan, oh no, it was _that_ specific tartan. The sort a certain someone’s bowtie was made of, the same one that had been on the thermos.

“Fucking throw pillows.” He snarled, trying to work himself into a lather about it. In _his_ living room, on _his_ sofa. They stood out on the backdrop of everything else around them in eye-searing contrast.

He did what any self-respecting demon would have done in such a situation then, he picked up one of the two pillows in question and he pitched it with force across the room, because really, it was asking for it. It was in the name. He snatched up the second and made to throw it as well but paused when he pulled back to really put some momentum into it and looked at the pillow in question, reconsidering it.

He took it between both of his hands and looked at it, wondering if he had imagined it, then slowly pressed it to his face. It… smelled like _ him_. And not the vague sort of holy or demonic smell something got when someone miracled something into existence either, it really smelled like him. Like he had been using it or like it was intentional? He half-turned on his heel and flopped gracelessly down onto the sofa and wrapped his arms around the pillow, the lower half of his face still buried in it and considered that. Maybe they’d just been sitting around somewhere in the bookstore and he had no use for them.

No, not even he believed that. It had to be intentional, and if it was intentional it meant that Aziraphale wanted him to think about it. That he wanted Crowley to think about him. The only question was just exactly how long had they been here? Had it been back when he had been talking about scented soaps and empty apartments or had it been more recent than that? When they had started sleeping with one another? When he had announced his plans to go home? Had he put them here just moments after he had left?

But he had to be honest with himself, didn’t he, even if he wasn’t sure he could be honest enough to say it out loud. His flat didn’t feel like home. It lacked a lot of little somethings. He wasn’t sure he had ever really thought of it as home in the first place. He certainly didn’t live here in any real capacity but it had at the very least felt like it belonged to him. He had food in his refrigerator just because people had food in theirs. Some rooms rarely if ever even saw him. He slept here but he didn’t bring people here. It was a place to keep his plants. A showroom of modern style, nothing more, but not anything he would ever have described as comfortable.

What was he even doing here? He had thought it was a good idea at the time, having a bit of space, getting back to his life.

He shifted enough to pull his phone out and unlocked the screen, teetering back and forth on the precipice of hitting the call button over the only contact he gave a crap about. Two very different wants struggled within him for dominance.

“Stop being so needy, it’s pathetic,” he instructed himself firmly.

He started to put the phone down beside him when it went off all on its own, startling him and leaving him fumbling to answer it. _ Aziraphale calling_, it said.

“Yeah?” he croaked into the receiver.

“It’s me,” Aziraphale stated softly.

“I know it’s you. It says it’s you whenever you call.”

“What? Oh, yes, quite right. They do that now. Right…”

“Angel…”

“Hm?”

“Did you call me for a reason? Is there something you _ wanted _?” Crowley somehow managed to purr the words out, teasing it into something that sounded flirtatious and solicitous. In reality, he was reeling and trying to stuff things down again. Pleasure. Anxiety. Excitement, and that one was particularly stupid considering, he thought.

The angel laughed a bit at this, sounding both embarrassed like he had been caught out and also just a bit husky. It made him smile despite himself. Whatever had been twisting itself up into a knot in the middle of him suddenly relaxed at the sound.

“I just… wanted to make sure that you got in alright. How is- how are you finding everything there?”

He was still holding the damned pillow. He didn’t mention it. A part of him unsure just what to say over the situation. He must have stayed quiet just a bit too long because eventually, Aziraphale spoke again. “Crowley?”

“It’s fine,” he said softly.

“It doesn’t sound very fine, my dear. I won’t push but, you know, it’s just that- well, I find I rather miss having you around. ” His voice was warm, coaxing even.

Crowley huffed a laugh. “Angel, it’s been like an hour. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Yes, well, it was a very _ long _hour.”

“You’re impossible.” he murmured. It was only the first of many things that came to him though because there were many other words he could have said, so many other words he wanted to apply to what was there like you’re wonderful, you’re beautiful, and I wish I was there too.

He couldn’t say any of that though. It was stuck somewhere in his throat, unable to escape because if he started he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to stop again. It was mounting up in him slowly behind the wall he’d built up brick by brick over the years to try to keep vulnerable dangerous things from escaping.

“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered to him and he wanted to say it back. 

“Angel,” he murmured instead. Which pretty much had the same meaning in his mind. Just say it back, he thought. Just say it back, just say _ it_. It’s three words. He means everything to you and this is so little, so simple, just fucking say it!

“Well, I won’t keep you then. Please do call if you need something though. It doesn’t matter what time.” the angel said. “I’ll call tomorrow, to check on you.”

Crowley closed his eyes. He felt like he was drowning and yet… and yet if he let him go, if even just for now he felt like he wouldn’t be able to take it. He imagined sitting here alone for hours or days feeling like this and unable to force himself to do anything about it. He imagined making up any little excuse he could to call or stop by, going back to playing at this game they managed throughout the centuries. This safe distance and space that had broken down over the few weeks since they had been together.

“Aziraphale,” he said again very quietly.

“Yes, my dear?”

He tried once and then twice to speak before actually managing it, pushing past the tightness in his throat, not even sounding like the usual him.

“I love you, you know.”

His voice warbled and cracked at the end of it, but he had said it. There was silence on the other end of the line and then just as anxiety began to dig its hooks further into him, the angel said. “Stay right there. I’m coming to get you.” As if he knew how hard it was, as if he knew how much such things cost him, as if he knew what he wanted. Maybe he felt it too, somehow.

**Author's Note:**

> I choose to use comment moderation only to keep abusive comments out so that you guys don't have to look at them, and no other reason. Please don't let it keep you from commenting as anything other than that I will let through.
> 
> You can get in touch with me via my[ Tumblr](https://relagorikt.tumblr.com/). No actual Dukes of Hell or danger noodles were harmed in the making of this fic.


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